


and I keep on climbing up

by FreshBrains



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Background Jeri Hogarth/Pam, Banter, Community: femslash_kink, Dresses, F/F, Fake/Pretend Relationship, POV Claire, Possessive Behavior, Power Dynamics, Public Display of Affection, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-22
Updated: 2016-02-22
Packaged: 2018-05-22 15:42:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6085413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FreshBrains/pseuds/FreshBrains
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“If you’re going to fake something,” Claire says, discreetly moving Marci’s hand to settle firmly on her ass instead of her hip, “fake it right.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	and I keep on climbing up

**Author's Note:**

> For the Annual Femslash Kink Meme 2015 [prompt](https://femslash-kink.dreamwidth.org/15813.html?thread=2042565#cmt2042565): Claire/Marci, fake dating + pdas.

_I’m going to kill him for this,_ Claire thinks, widening her already beaming, ultra-fake smile. _I told him I’d help him out, but this is_ not _what I had in mind._

“You look like you’re having an aneurysm, _darling_ ,” Marci says through her teeth, arm tightening around Claire’s waist.

“Do not,” Claire says stubbornly, softening her expression. “I’m a nurse. I should know.”

Marci pinches Claire’s waist, ignoring her indignant squeak. “There she is. Be cool.” She nods towards the couple entering the lounge through the main doors. “Jeri,” Marci says, voice brimming with saccharine sweetness as she greets the tall, imposing woman. “So happy to see you again.”

“It’s been too long, Miss Stahl,” the woman says, voice icy and sensual at the same time, extending a hand to Marci. She then casts an eye at Claire, one brow raised, like she’s appraising the catch. “And who might your companion be?”

“This is Claire Temple,” Marci says, turning to smile at Claire. “My partner.”

It takes all of Claire’s substantial willpower to smile warmly back at Marci, putting on the act that they’ve been loving girlfriends for over a year instead of minor acquaintances who only met that afternoon. Claire supposes this is the sort of thing friends do for one another, which makes her and Matt _friends_ , which is a whole new can of worms to not open. “Charmed,” she says, then realizes she sounds like a total douche.

“You look familiar,” Jeri says, narrowing her eyes at Claire. “Are you a doctor?”

“Nurse, actually,” Marci says, still smiling at Claire. “One of the best in the city.”

It’s a small thing, but Marci’s pride actually makes Claire feel pretty good. The people she’s dated before always seem to ask why she “settled” for being a nurse instead of an MD, which always pissed her off. But Marci was quick to point out the difference.

“Of course,” Jeri says, finally tearing her gaze away from Claire. She turns to the young, blonde woman on her arm. “Oh, forgive me. This is Pam, my fiancée.”

They all exchange pleasantries for a few minutes, shaking hands and offering up smiles. Claire feels so ridiculously out of her element. This isn’t her world, these cocktail parties and charity galas. She’s wearing a black dress, floor-length and made from the kind of sumptuous fabric she’d only ever dreamed about, and ruby earrings that look like fire against her dark hair. The only time she ever saw dresses or jewelry this expensive was when people came in to the hospital at three in the morning from overdoses or drunk driving accidents.

Marci took care of it all for her—took her measurements, sent the order into the shop. Claire doesn’t really know how to feel about that, but at least it’s only for a night.

After Jeri and Pam wander away arm in arm, Claire leans in and whispers to Marci, “I thought you said her wife’s name was Wendy.”

“It was,” Marci says dryly, a little impressed. “Apparently, she upgraded.”

Claire rolls her eyes. “Classy.”

“I didn’t mean it like that,” Marci pouts. She bumps Claire in the arm, and for a moment, Claire can’t tell if it’s a play to show how close they are or if it’s just the type of weird physical intimacy Marci shares with everyone. “This is a dog-eat-dog business. Every time a woman makes a move like that, she gets noticed.”

Claire follows Marci’s gaze to where she’s still staring at Jeri and Pam, where her eyes linger on the short cut of Pam’s dress, the smooth length of her legs. “Hm,” Claire murmurs, reaching for a glass of champagne from a passing tray, “I never imagined lust being one of your sins. You’re just full of surprises.”

Marci flushes. “What’s that supposed to mean?” She has a way of sounding like a stubborn teenager that Claire can’t help but find adorable.

“Well, lawyers. You’ve got greed and wrath and all of that crap down pat, right? It’s all part of the game.” Claire knows she’s egging Marci on, especially after what she’s heard about her from Matt and Foggy. She knows Marci’s a battle axe with a heart of gold, and as a woman who has been called much worse, she has the irresistible urge to dig in her heels. It’s a character flaw.

But instead of snapping back, Marci does the opposite—she tightens her arm proprietarily around Claire’s waist, hand warm on Claire’s hip, fingers spreading down far enough to nearly graze her ass. “Actually,” Marci says breezily, eyes still on Jeri and Pam across the room, “it’s more envy than anything.”

A shiver runs down Claire’s spine. She knows what it must look like—Marci Stahl in a blood-orange dress and rented diamonds, well-known enough to come to these sorts of functions like she belongs there, with her arm around an unknown woman’s waist, whispering hotly into her ear.

They expect it from women like Jeri Hogarth. Jeri has _power_.

“You want to _own_ someone like that,” Claire says, just as breezily. She leans in close enough for her lips to graze a stray curl of Marci’s blonde hair. “You wanted someone to show off, to show people what they should be jealous of.” She curls in closer to Marci’s body, the swell of her breasts brushing against Marci’s arm. “So show them.”

“I should’ve known,” Marci says, her voice practically a purr. She’s flushing pink from her neck to her ears, pupils blown, eyes glassy in the elegant chandelier’s light. “You don’t do anything half-assed.”

“If you’re going to fake something,” Claire says, discreetly moving Marci’s hand to settle firmly on her ass instead of her hip, “fake it right.”

As Marci sucks in a sharp breath, Claire smiles and thinks, _this is turning out_ way _better than expected._

*

Marci looks good in the low candlelight of a ballroom, but she looks even better with the glow of traffic lights shining on her hair and skin as she lies on her back on the hotel bed, naked and panting, for Claire’s eyes only.

“You know, this wasn’t part of the deal,” Marci says, throwing her head back against the pillow as Claire kisses slowly down her sternum to her belly, lips leaving a trail of smudged burgundy lipstick. “You don’t _have_ to do this.”

“Who says I _have_ to do anything?” Claire arches her eyebrow, looking up at Marci as she moves her hand between Marci’s spread legs. Marci’s body is small and sweet and compact, her cunt wet against the roving pads of Claire’s fingers, and Claire decides she likes this version of Marci more than the sharp-eyed lawyer working the room like it’s her job. “Maybe I like seeing you like this.” She slides a finger into Marci’s cunt, smooth and hot, while circling her clit with her thumb. “Maybe this is what _I_ get out of the deal.”

Marci whimpers, squirming down onto Claire’s hand, body arching off the bed. “God, you play dirty.”

“No dirtier than you,” Claire quips, her own breath coming fast and shallow just from watching Marci’s stomach muscles contract and her hips settle into a slow grind, body desperate for more. “Now, I’m going to fuck you, and tomorrow, you’re going to call me and we’ll set up a coffee date. A _real_ date.” Marci nods furiously, hand tangled in her own hair as Claire slides another finger into her cunt. “Sound good?”

“Yes, _yes_ ,” Marci says. Claire curls her fingers and Marci shudders out her first orgasm, face twisted in pleasure, groan caught in her throat.

“Good,” Claire says, fingers still inside Marci’s hot, clenching cunt. “Now that that’s settled, let’s have a good night in this ridiculous hotel.”

“Okay,” Marci huffs out with a laugh, face blissed out, forehead sweaty. “But if we’re going to do _this_ , then we’ll do it right, too.” She leans up on her elbow. “I’ve got a few things in my overnight bag if you want to play.”

“Oh,” Claire says, grinning wickedly. “I want to play.”

After all, the whole night had been one long game. There was still time to decide on a winner.

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Nick Jonas' "Levels."


End file.
